


we are more alike, my friend

by Trobadora



Category: Legend of the Seeker (TV)
Genre: Episode: s02e04 Touched, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-07-29 15:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20084380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trobadora/pseuds/Trobadora
Summary: "My sisters," Kahlan murmured, not meeting Cara's eyes. "Other Confessors. Women like me. I miss it."





	we are more alike, my friend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittleRaven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleRaven/gifts).

> Set after episode [2.04 Touched](https://sot.fandom.com/wiki/Touched) (the one with Annabelle, the young Confessor). Title from Maya Angelou.

"You should be asleep," Cara said gruffly, for lack of a better thing to say. It was her turn for watch, but Kahlan was still sitting up, distractedly poking at the ground with a twig. Richard and Zedd were both asleep, the wizard's snoring loud and annoying as ever. Cara and Kahlan might as well have been alone by the fire. "Still think I'll murder you in your sleep?"

Kahlan had, early on. She clearly didn't any more, or she'd never have let Cara lift an agiel to her. If Cara had wanted to, she could have knocked Kahlan out, could have sold her to that sorcerer in truth, rather than only pretending for a ruse.

They both knew that. Things were ... different, now. It was weird.

Kahlan made a grimace, brushed dark hair from her face. "Annabelle was the last Confessor," she said, out of nowhere, rather than responding to Cara's banter. Stating the obvious, as if Cara should know how to respond to such a statement.

Well, perhaps. After all, if there were no more Confessors now, it was because of Cara. Because Cara, when she'd still been loyal to Darken Rahl, had killed them all.

Annabelle _had_ been the last one left, and her powers had been taken by the sorcerer's Quillion. There was only Dennee now, resurrected in a body not hers, unable to continue the bloodline - and of course Kahlan herself. But why rub it in Cara's face now?

"Are you looking for a fight?" Cara demanded. 

Kahlan started. Her eyes were glittering, deep blue even in firelight. "No," she said, sounding morose more than anything.

Cara blinked, confused. Then what? "Go to sleep." 

Kahlan sighed, fiddled with the twig in her hand. Pulled her blankets around her. Looked down, then up again, but made no move to actually bed down. Contrary. Cara huffed.

When Kahlan's voice came again, it was barely a breath. "I miss ..." And then, annoyingly, she trailed off.

"What?"

Kahlan was looking into her own lap. The flickering fire made it hard to read her expression. "Do you ever ..." Again, she didn't complete her sentence. So irritating.

"Say what you mean," Cara ordered.

Silence, for a long moment. Then, "My sisters," Kahlan murmured, still not meeting Cara's eyes. "Other Confessors. Women like me. I miss it."

Because of Cara. Cara looked away. She should be the last person Kahlan would talk to, about such a thing.

Cara ignored the constricting feeling in her chest. Had she buckled her leathers too tight? She wanted to get to her feet, to tell Kahlan not to be so sentimental - _it makes you weak, you should know that_ \- and walk away. She could almost feel the provocative swagger rolling out from her hips.

But she was keeping watch. She couldn't just leave. And the words stuck in her throat.

"I miss them," Kahlan said again, more firmly. Cara stared into the fire, ignoring her. But Kahlan wasn't done yet. "You miss yours too, don't you?"

Cara couldn't help it - her head snapped around. She stared. Kahlan was looking directly at her.

_"You miss them, don't you?_ Kahlan had sneered at her, early on, when Cara had complained about how much more efficiently a group of Mord'Sith would have taken care of the thug of the day. _Your little torture girlfriends._ Cara had glared, and gritted her teeth, and hadn't struck out with her agiel. Truly, she'd been a model of restraint.

But it wasn't a taunt this time, nor a slip or a mistake. It clearly wasn't. Mord'Sith didn't need a reason to be cruel, but Kahlan, Cara had learned - Kahlan did. So that wasn't why. She wasn't poking at a wound. She was saying - 

Something unthinkable. Something no Confessor should ever be saying to a Mord'Sith.

Kahlan knew, too. That was why she hadn't met Cara's eyes earlier. But she was saying it anyway. And her blue eyes were steady, fixed on Cara, now.

Cara swallowed. "Women like me," she repeated Kahlan's phrase. Her voice was rough. She made it more assured as she spoke, wrapping her pride around her. "Yes. But there are no women like me. Not now."

Kahlan snorted, but her lips were curving. Why was she smiling? Cara cast about for something else to say.

"Kahlan. There are no women like you, either." Cara flinched as soon as she said it, and Kahlan's eyes went wide with shock. Too cruel. "I don't mean -" She hadn't meant _that_. But what could Cara say, instead? How could she? "Not because they're dead," she tried eventually, feeling awkward like a young trainee not yet at home in her leathers. "Because you're not -" She shook her head, helpless to express her meaning.

Kahlan stared. 

Did she understand? Kahlan was a Confessor - the Mother Confessor - but she was not in Aydindril, ruling the Midlands. She wasn't travelling from court to court, judging, either. She couldn't - not while she was on this quest with Richard. And she'd chosen that quest over her duties, again and again. It was the same with Cara: on this quest, the Seeker's quest, she could not act as Mord'Sith did. And she'd chosen this over making her own way, over returning and winning over - or conquering - a temple of Mord'Sith. 

But Cara couldn't say that, could she? Couldn't say, _You're more like me, now, than you are like them._ It would have been - it would have been an insult to the dead, for Kahlan.

Uncomfortable under Kahlan's eyes, Cara huffed and turned away.

"Cara," Kahlan whispered eventually, very quietly. For some reason she was shuffling around the fire, closer to Cara. "You're more like me than you are like them, too."

Cara sucked in a sharp breath. _Oh._

She'd heard - Kahlan had heard what Cara hadn't said. Had understood - and wasn't angrily refuting it.

What was she to do with that?

Cara swallowed and didn't protest either, not when Kahlan sat next to her, not when Kahlan wrapped an arm around her, not even when she dropped her head against Cara's shoulder. Cara didn't move, didn't even lean away. She sat still, saying nothing, feeling Kahlan's body warm against her side.

_Like me_, she thought, almost hysterically. _No. She's a Confessor._ It had been her thought first, before it had been Kahlan's words, but: _No. She can't be. No._

Kahlan let out a tired sigh. "Truth is truth. We can't change it," she murmured. And, "Maybe it's not so bad."

Cara's heart was hammering in her chest. Maybe. _Maybe._

She kept saying nothing. Somehow, it seemed to be enough. Kahlan stayed by her side for the rest of her watch.


End file.
